


You Live But Once

by WarMageCentral



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Black Knight!Montparnasse, Chapter crack, I'm so sorry, M/M, Multi, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Prince!Enjolras, Puppy!Marius (literally), Self Indulgent Sillyness, So many Monty Python gags, This is basically a mash-up of Les Mis and The Holy Grail, accidental hipster!Enjolras, and H20 Just Add Water, crack crack crack, um, with some Life of Brian, yeah that, you know that show about the Australian mermaids?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-06-26
Updated: 2013-09-29
Packaged: 2017-12-16 05:05:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,528
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/858119
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WarMageCentral/pseuds/WarMageCentral
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A long time ago in a land not much different to our own there was a young prince named Enjolras. He, along with his best friends Combeferre and Courfeyrac and his trusty puppy Marius try to free the people of the kingdom of Hollisteria, and also save it from evil magic users who would wreak havoc in the land.</p><p>Meanwhile, Grantaire the village drunkard chances to meet the young prince one night, much to Enjolras' annoyance, but is he all he appears?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> So. much. crack.  
> Just...I'm sorry

A good while ago, in a land a considerable distance away, there was a young prince named Enjolras, heir to the Copper Throne and the future king of Hollisteria.

All his life he had been taught how to best rule the kingdom and protect it from dangerous magic users who would bring harm to its people. After the last evil wizard, known as the Dark Lord Bieber, snuck his way into Hollisteria disguised as a prepubescent boy and almost wiped out the whole kingdom by playing his wicked sirens throughout the land. So terrible were these evil chants that those whose ears didn’t bleed on hearing them took their own lives, driven to madness, and mumbling “baby, baby, baby… _oh_ ” till their last breaths.

After Hollisteria’s National Guard, led by the brave General Fraser, slayed the wizard, all magic was driven out and made illegal in the kingdom, lest they be driven almost to extinction in such a way ever again. Now, anyone caught using magic will be punished by death (or a good spanking, depending on the degree of the offense).

Although he listened attentively through all of these lessons, preparing himself to protect and serve the kingdom as best he could, inside he fumed. What gave him the right to have control over so many lives? Though Prince Enjolras cared about the people he was to rule wholeheartedly, and he knew he would never be as bad as his great grandfather King David son of Cameron while he lived; it angered him to no end knowing that the people did not _choose_ him. It did not matter that Enjolras had concerns for the rights of the people because there was nothing to stop the next king or the king after that being as selfish and cruel as some of his predecessors.

So as he grew older Enjolras imagined the people being able to decide for themselves how the kingdom is run and, perhaps one beautiful day in the future, not needing a king at all. As the years rolled by Enjolras became more and more intent to making this dream a reality and, along with his truest and best friends Combeferre and Courfeyrac, founded the People’s Front of Hollesteria.

This tale begins on the eve of Prince Enjolras’ eighteenth birthday, and tells of how the boy, on the cusp of manhood, plans to free the people of Hollisteria and perhaps free his heart for one person in particular...


	2. Let Down Your Hair

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prince Enjolras and his brave friends sneak out of the castle to hold a meeting of The People's Front of Hollisteria

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nobody's told me to stop writing this (yet) so...

“It won’t work.” Combeferre insists for probably the 24601th time that night from the foot of Enjolras’ bed, petting the dog at his feet. The dog - Marius he’d been named - is a small thing, like a puppy though Enjolras has had him for years so he’s fairly certain he can’t be.  It’s afraid of cats, overexcited, and keeps walking into walls as if in a day dream but Enjolras and his friends are fond of him all the same.

“He does have a point, Enjolras. For once.” Courfeyrac adds with a grin from where he is perched rather precariously on the windowsill. “Isn’t that right, Marius?” he coos to the dog still lying at Combeferre’s feet.

The not-puppy barks happily in agreement before getting distracted by a bluebottle that had flown in through the window and beginning to chase it around the room, not realising that he himself can’t fly and falling onto his back with a whimper after he jumps up too high.

Combeferre soothes the dog by rubbing his stomach before speaking again. “Enjolras,” he begins calmly, “the whole palace is on lockdown in preparation for your birthday ball tomorrow night. The doors are locked, the roads are blocked and the underground’s on strike again. _Plus_ we’ll never get past Sir Fraser without getting caught.” All three wince visibly at that.

Sir Fraser had been the general of Hollisteria’s National Guard but, after having slayed the Dark Lord Bieber he developing a searing, almost irrational hate for anything from the magical world - which for centuries had been part of their own - and the king declared that he should retire from the position. After being replaced by the brave Sir Robin, General Fraser became only Sir Fraser, though his glorious moustache is still the stuff of legend, inspiring bards and minstrels all across the land. He has been appointed as Prince Enjolras’ official bodyguard and has thus far been very successful in keeping Enjolras on lockdown and preventing him from leaving the palace to help the People’s Front of Hollisteria.

But tonight, Sir Fraser shall fail, for the Prince has a plan.

“Ah, but my dear Combeferre, who said anything about doors?”

Both of Enjolras’ friends openly gape at him for a moment, before Courfeyrac exclaims, “And what do you suppose we do, fly out the window?”

“Not exactly. We’re going to climb.” Before his friends can have him committed to the nearest sanatorium, as there isn’t a rope in all the land that is long or strong enough for the three of them to safely descend from the window of his bedchamber, Enjolras reaches under his bed and pulls out a sack, the contents of which glows slightly. “My cousin Rapunzel sent us her hair.”

Combeferre and Courfeyrac stare in awe, each approaching the bag and, sure enough, finding a long, thick braid of golden hair.

“But how did you get her to part with it?” Combeferre breathes after a moment.

“It wasn’t any trouble at all, actually. She wanted a pixie cut apparently, and I think she said something about finding a charm to make it purple? - She’s at that age.” Enjolras explains, which is met with understanding “ahhs” from his friends.

“But wait,” Courfeyrac starts, picking Marius out of the bag after he had become too entranced by the glowing braid and fallen in with a yelp, “climbing out of the window is all well and good but what about when we actually get on the ground? The palace gates are locked and the main road is cordoned off, the only way to get to the nearest village is by…” Courfeyrac trails off suddenly, eyes wide with horror.

“Enjolras, no.” Combeferre says firmly, like he’s just read his friend’s mind. “We are _not_ going into the Haunted Forrest. We’ll get ourselves killed or worse! Not to mention Trip Advisor only gave its outdoor adventure park a three out of ten!”

Courfeyrac hums in agreement before adding, “Evil bandits or no, there is simply no excuse for such a small zip-wire.”

Enjolras pinches the bridge of his nose before starting, “Listen, friends. I appreciate that you are concerned for my well-being--”

“ _Your_ well-being?” Courfeyrac scoffs, “I’m more concerned about myself, thank you very much. With a face like this who knows what a sex-starved criminal in the woods would do to me? Plus with an arse like mine that is juicier than all the peaches in the land--”

“ _Anyway,_ thank you Courf,” Enjolras cuts in, “we must remember why we are doing this at all. The kingdom needs the People’s Front of Hollisteria, _needs_ our guidance so they can achieve freedom. That is why we meet in the village every Thursday night, and have done for years. Well, gentlemen, it is a Thursday night and, birthday party, crazy bodyguards, haunted forests or no, I am going to make my way to that village and I am going to give them the courage they need to one day break free from their chains. Now,” he casts a glance at Combeferre and Courfeyrac and, crossing his forearms and holding a little finger out to each says, “Are you with me?”

After barely a moment’s hesitation, Enjolras’ friends copy his actions until they are standing in a small circle, holding each other’s little fingers as they chant;

“ _Great friends, great friends, never ever break friends._

 _If you do I’ll flush you down the loo and that will be the end of you_.”

After doing their super-secret handshake of friendship, they prepare to leave for the village.

“Courfeyrac, you take the watch,” Enjolras orders his friend as he ties the end of Rapunzel’s braid to one of the posts on his bed.

After looking into the hallway and out the window and declaring that there are no guards in sight, Courfeyrac deems it safe for them to escape. They ready themselves to begin the climb when they hear a small whine from under the bed.

“No, Marius,” Enjolras sighs, “You have to stay here.” But the dog just whines even louder and stares at him with huge blue eyes that for a second look human.

“ _No,_ Marius.” Enjolras says with more insistence, but again the dog whines and if he didn’t know any better Enjolras would say that for one heart-wrenching moment there are tears in its eyes. After a few more seconds of staring the puppy down, Enjolras heaves a world-weary sigh and says to no one in particular, “Someone find me a basket, then.”

A few minutes - and more than a few curses - see Combeferre, Courfeyrac, Enjolras and the very excited Marius all safe on the ground. Checking once more that there are no guards patrolling their part of the grounds, they slink around the foliage in the palace gardens that grows larger and wilder with every couple of steps, until suddenly they find themselves entering the Haunted Forest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I still don't know what I'm doing here. But I'll probably update tomorrow. Cause why not :3
> 
> Things will actually happen next chapter, including an encounter with the fearsome Black Knight who remarkably resembles a certain dandy and the mysterious Three Headed Night (guess who) in the Haunted Forest...
> 
> Have a lovely day!


	3. Tis but a Scratch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the Haunted Forest, Enjolras, Courfeyrac, Combeferre and Marius encounter two life-threatening forces. Can they escape in time to hold the meeting?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I'm still writing this apparently, woohoo
> 
> Sort-of warning for some sort-of comical violence in this chapter (completely ripped off from the Holy Grail but you don't need to have seen it)
> 
> Um, enjoy? I'm sorry? Good luck? I think one of those is accurate.

Every minute feels like hours when walking through the Haunted Forest, especially when the companions have to keep glancing behind them to make sure they haven’t been pursued and protect the whimpering Marius any time a squirrel gets too close for comfort.

However, they continue on their quest without incident, until they arrive at the bridge that goes over the River of Tears, which was given its name because years ago young lovers would go into it for romantic moonlight swims only to discover upon leaving it that they have chlamydia and often a third nipple. Some say it was originally cursed by the evil wizard Berlusconi, but no evidence has ever been found.

Just as the prince and his friends try to cross the bridge, a dark figure appears seemingly out of nowhere. When the figure steps into the moonlight Enjolras sees that it is a knight of sorts, dressed all in black armour, but instead of a helm and visor they appear to be wearing a sort of steel top hat, and sports a cane instead of a sword.

“I am Montparnasse,” the knight states in a booming voice, “none shall pass.”

“ _Hey, that rhymes!”_

_“Shut up, Courfeyrac!”_

Enjolras throws his friends a stern look before addressing this Montparnasse character, “We have no quarrel with you, good Sir Knight, we simply wish to cross the bridge.”

“None shall pass.”

“But--”

“ _None shall pass._ Now collect your bits and pieces there and be on your way.”

Enjolras feels himself growing more and more frustrated. He knows there is no other way to access the village and he refuses to return to the palace with his tail between his legs. He isn’t Marius. So, unsheathing his sword he tells the knight in a grave voice, “We will not give up until we have crossed this bridge.”

“ _Actually, I wouldn’t really mind giving up--”_

 _“Shut_ up, _Courfeyrac!”_

“Then you shall die.” Montparnasse declares and, pulling a thin sword out of his cane - the smarmy bastard - charges toward Enjolras at a run. Courfeyrac and Combeferre try to rush to their friend’s aid, but the prince waves them off. Enjolras has always supported fairness, and he will not be known as the man who set three against one.

Enjolras efficiently parries the knight’s initial blow, and after that everything becomes a blur of swords glinting in the moonlight and the ringing of steel on steel. Just when the prince begins to tire, he gathers all of his strength and just _swings_ and he finds that his sword has come back drenched in blood. He notices Montparnasse’s left arm lying on the ground at his feet.

For a moment Enjolras stands horrified but eventually he dons his Prince Voice and grits out, “We will be crossing the bridge now. I suggest you get immediate medical--”

“ _Chicken!_ ”

“--Attention and… wait, excuse me?” Enjolras and his companions gape at the man.

“You’re a chicken! Running away! Pansy!”

“But…your arm’s been chopped off!” Combeferre reasons.

Montparnasse just looks at him confusedly from under his top hat, like _he’s_ the mad one. “No it isn’t.”

“But…it is!” Enjolras shouts, pointing to the severed limb lying on the forest floor and the knight follows his gaze.

“Tis but a scratch!”

“ _A scratch?”_ Courfeyrac demands.

“Aye, I’ve had worse! Now, let’s have you!” Montparnasse lunges at Enjolras again who, steeling his stomach, chops off the knight’s other arm easily, sword clattering to the floor still in the hand’s grip.

“Now, we shall cross the bridge before any more damage is--”

“ _Pussy!”_

“--Done - Oh you can’t be serious!” Enjolras shouts, exasperated, “You have no arms!”

“That’s an old one! Any excuse to run away! Chicken!” The knight begins to skip in a circle around Enjolras and make clucking noises, kicking him in the shins.

“Hey, stop that!”

“ _Chicken!”_

“That hurts, you crazy-- well if you’re going to be like _that!_ ” Enjolras swings his sword once more, taking off Montparnasse’s right leg. “You brought this on yourself Sir Knight. Now we really must away--”

“Ha, you see that lads? Blondie’s running off to his mother.” The knight bellows as he hops precariously towards Enjolras. “Now, let’s have you!”

“Oh for fuck’s sake.” Courfeyrac breathes with an eye roll. When Enjolras looks at him and Combeferre they both just shrug and, as Montparnasse tries to ineffectually head-butt Enjolras’ shoulder, his sword hand swoops down and takes off the knight’s other leg.

Montparnasse, now a stump with a head squirming on the ground, calls up “ _Ooh,_ I bet he thinks he’s _so clever_. Come here you, I’ll bite your fucking ankles off!”

Marius chooses this moment to walk over to the knight and, after giving him a sniff, lifts his leg and relieves himself over his shiny metal top hat.

“Good boy Marius!” Combeferre coos, and as they finally walk towards the bridge, they hear a faint, “Okay, we’ll call it a draw.” from the knight on the ground.

“That man has serious issues.” Combeferre declares after they make it over the bridge. Courfeyrac and Enjolras hum in agreement, before falling into a companionable silence and focusing on the matter at hand, which is reaching the village on time for the meeting.

After a few more uneventful minutes they come to a clearing which means that they have almost made it out of the Haunted Forest. However, when they reach the edge of the clearing out of the darkness steps what appears to be a giant knight with three heads. Enjolras swears that if he sees another knight ever again after he leaves these damned woods he will happy slap it.

“Who goes there?” It - _they_ \- demand. Under the full moon Enjolras can make out that the head on the far left has sandy coloured hair and is wearing a thin pair of glasses. On the right is a bald man with a small cut on his eyebrow and in the middle is a woman’s head with caramel skin and long brown hair.

Enjolras decides that it would not be wise to tell this obviously magical creature his true identity or purpose for being in the Haunted Forest, so he tells it - _them_ \- addressing each head in turn, “We are simple travellers, who got lost in the forest this afternoon and now we are making our way home to the village. Now if you would just let us pass--”

“We should kill them!” The bald head suggests.

“Hmm I could maybe make them into a nice stew.” The woman muses.

“But what if they’re diseased! They could be carrying anything, and I hear there is a new plague going around!” the head with the glasses  protests.

“Plus, ‘Chetta’s stew will probably make us sick anyway.” The bald head jokes.

“Are you insulting my cooking?! You are _so_ lucky I don’t control either of our arms--” the woman breaks off to sneeze.

The sandy haired head practically squeals, “Oh no, we _do_ have the plague. We’re going to die! I know we shouldn’t have let you cook--”

“How is it my fault, seeing as _you two control the arms?!_ ”

“That’s it,” the bald one declares, “I’m not listening to this, I’m leaving.”

“And how, pray tell, are you going to do that, seeing as we share a body? Dumbass.”

“Words hurt, ‘Chetta!”

“Yes, well dying of the plague hurts more, so if you’ll both just be quiet and--”

“Don’t you give me orders--”

While the heads are busy arguing amongst themselves, Combeferre grabs Courfeyrac and Enjolras by the shoulders and pulls them out of the clearing, calling in a hushed voice for Marius to follow. As the sounds of bickering fade, they are replaced with the sounds of chatting and laughter and soon the trees thin out and the brave companions have reached the outskirts of the village.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Grantaire next :D
> 
> I should really stop writing this and go back to my main serious fic but...no


	4. There's Something Fishy About that Drunkard

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The brave companions finally hold their meeting and they make a shocking discovery about the resident drunkard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is still being written, woop woop.
> 
> For my friend who made me update this today <3

After making their way through the many winding cobbled streets of the village, the brave companions now find themselves in the pub known as the Musain, where the People’s Front of Hollisteria have been meeting every Thursday since it was created. (This isn’t exactly true - they tried to hold the meetings on Friday nights originally, but they couldn’t get enough people to come and show support, for Fridays are pound a pint night at Ye Olde Student’s Union Tavern).

As Enjolras makes his way towards their usual table he scans the crowd for familiar faces, finding Bahorel, a monster of a man who was thrown out of the National Guard for drinking on the job and using the magic he was supposed to be fighting against to cheat at card games. With him is Feuilly, a quiet lad with a head of orange hair and a permanent _knowing_ look in his eyes, always drinking but somehow never drunk. Though he isn’t as rowdy and nowhere near as strong as the other man, the two appear to be inseparable. However, there are times when Feuilly is known to disappear for days on end without explanation, and usually with…

_Grantaire._

Sure enough, there is the village’s resident drunkard sitting at his usual table at the back of the pub, nursing a tankard of ale and already smirking at Enjolras, just waiting to rip his views and visions for a better kingdom to shreds.

Without further ado, Enjolras launches right into the meeting, discussing when it would be best to revolt against the monarchy. Just as they begin to start the strategic planning, a voice that Enjolras has grown to know quite well pipes up from the back of the large room.

“While that’s all well and good, Goldilocks--”

“She’s my cousin, you ass!”

“--I have something of a suggestion.” The drunk finishes with a sly grin. Enjolras simply raises his eyebrow, which Grantaire must take as encouragement enough as he continues, “Seeing as your daddy dearest Prince Charming--”

“King Charming, actually.”

“--Is sure to be dying soon, leaving you with the throne, why don’t you just free the people yourself when you come into power?”

“That’s not how it works.” Enjolras states, already growing tired with the conversation.

“Or maybe you don’t want it to work like that. Maybe the high and mighty Prince Enjolras just wants to see the streets run red with the blood of angry men! God forbid someone deny you your bloody revolution--”

“You know not of what you speak.” Enjolras snarls, silencing the room at large as he stares into Grantaire’s eyes (blue, always so blue, eyes shouldn’t be that shade of blue, surely), as if daring him to make a comeback.

For a moment Enjolras believes that he has silenced the drunk at last, before turning round and hearing Grantaire boldly declare, “Your _mother_ knows not of what she speaks.”

Now, Enjolras can’t be sure if it’s the anger he feels towards the corrupt monarchy, or the memory of the knights that tried to kill him earlier that night, or the sheer maddening disbelief that it’s not butter, but something inside him snaps and suddenly he finds himself launched over Grantaire’s table holding a broken bottle to the man’s neck.

“ _Enjolras, put that bottle down!”_ He hears Combeferre shout over the uproar as he feels Bahorel pull him back and as far away from the drunkard as possible.

After gaining some semblance of calm, Enjolras turns to Grantaire, who now looks at him with wide eyes that are burning with anger and dark with-- _lust?_ Haha nope. Enjolras is hallucinating, and it must surely be bed time, plus it is very warm in the pub tonight, why is it so hot in here? -- he grits out, “If you are not going to be of any help to our cause I suggest you leave.” After the other man makes no attempt to move he says, “When I say ‘suggest’, I mean get the fuck out, Grantaire! Just go home.”

Despite his anger, Enjolras feels guilty for having been so harsh, and the atmosphere in the pub is intense, really intense (well not _really_ intense, but still pretty intense) before Grantaire stands up with an air of sad resignation and mutters, “As you wish, Your Highness.”

Enjolras’ heart feels like lead when he watches Grantaire leave, brushing off sympathetic hands and concerned words from the Musain’s usual patrons.

Unfortunately for Enjolras, brushing off Bahorel and Feuilly’s death glares isn’t as easy.

The young prince sighs. It’s going to be a long night.

 

 

 

 

 

“There was no need to be so harsh with him, Enjolras.” Combeferre scolds for probably the twelfth time that night as they are leaving the Musain to return to the palace before dawn.

“He was insulting me - he was insulting the cause!”

“ _You attacked him with a bottle you fucking lunatic!”_ Courfeyrac screeches into his ear which, ow.

“I admit that my approach wasn’t very tactful, but--”

“ _Tactful? TACTFUL?”_ Courfeyrac breaks into a wail that is akin to a death rattle, arms flailing wildly in the air as he has apparently lost the ability to form coherent sentences in his anger with Enjolras.

“Be quiet both of you!” Combeferre hisses, picking Marius up into his arms before he walks into a bush. “I think there’s someone lying in that alley.”

The three make their way over to an alley way just behind the Musain where, sure enough, there is a slumped figure, with a bottle of wine in his hand, a pale unshaven face, wild unkempt curls--

“Oh for fuck’s sake, Grantaire!” Enjolras shouts exasperatedly, but the man on the ground does not stir.

“What do we do with him?” Courfeyrac asks quietly.

“He’s none of our concern.” Enjolras cuts into the thoughtful silence, “and we must get to the palace before--”

“Enjolras we are not leaving him here to be mugged or worse!” Combeferre shouts - twice in one night, wow - and Enjolras knows not to try and argue. Besides, he does have a bit of a point. Maybe half a point. 0.25 perhaps.

Spotting a bucket lying outside the Musain’s door, Enjolras takes it to the village well which is only a few feet away and fills it up. On his return Combeferre raises his eyebrow quizzically but says nothing, while Courfeyrac giggles to himself while singing quietly, “What do you do with a drunken sailor…”

“This should wake him up.” Enjolras declares before lifting the bucket and dumping the contents over Grantaire’s head. For a second Enjolras swears that he sees a blinding flash of light, but it disappears as soon as it arrived and nothing is left but Grantaire’s wide eyes staring up at him.

Blue eyes that are the same colour as his long shimmering tail.

_Well, fuck._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just in case that wasn't quite clear, Grantaire's a merman, yo.
> 
> I'll have a chapter up soon, promise! And if you're enjoying this or are as mad and easily amused as me feedback would be lovely :3


	5. It Seems Grantaire Has Been...Telling Tails

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The companions discover that Grantaire is a merman, and try to save his life before it is too late.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For my friend because it is 3AM and I should be watching Supernatural or sleeping but I wrote this so you can take my typos and fucking like it :D <3

For what seems like an impossibly long moment the four men (three and a half men? Three men and a fish-man?) simply gape at each other. The silence is only broken when Marius waddles over to Grantaire and starts chewing on one of the fins of his tail. The tail that he has. Because Grantaire has a tail. Huh.

“Um.” Enjolras says brilliantly and Courfeyrac nods very enthusiastically as if he has just said the most intelligent thing ever to be uttered by man.

“ _What the fuck have you done?!”_ Grantaire roars, slapping Marius with his tail until he shies behind Combeferre with a whine. “You can’t just run around throwing water over people!”

“Um.” Enjolras says again.

“What he said.” Courfeyrac agrees.

“Grantaire, you appear to have a tail.” Combeferre explains helpfully.

The drunkard pinches the bridge of his nose and whispers something exasperatedly before saying, very slowly, voice dripping with sarcasm. “Yes, mermen _do_ tend to have tails funny enough.”

“But, _you had legs!_ ” Enjolras manages to splutter, proud that he can form more than monosyllables now.

“Well, I _did_ , until you decided to throw a bucket of water over me! Which, rude.”

The three friends look at Grantaire confusedly for a moment until Combeferre speaks again, “So you had legs, but Enjolras threw water over you--”

“ _Rude.”_ Grantaire whispers again.

“-- And now you have a tail.”

“Well done. You have eyes. Want a Blue Peter badge?” Grantaire asks with an eye-roll.

“Wait,” Enjolras says in a grave voice, “You’re a magical creature. But magic was banished from the Kingdom years ago. How were you born?”

“I wasn’t born like this, dipshit _._ And I would be delighted to tell you the lovely tale-- _”_

_“Heh heh, or is it tell the ‘tail’?”_

_“Courfeyrac, I will kill everything you love.”_

_“_ \--Of how I was cursed by some evil wizard or whatever, but I’m kinda dying here.”

“You’re _what?_ But you’re fine!” Enjolras protests.

“Pardon me _Your Highness,_ ” Grantaire spits the words, “but in case it has escaped your notice, I am technically half fish and as I am on land I’m drying up faster than the queen’s--”

“Watch it, drunkard.”

“--Anyway, if I don’t get home soon you’ll have to explain a merman’s corpse to a lot of confused villagers.”

“We can’t let him die, Enjolras!” Courfeyrac insists, bending down to pinch Grantaire’s cheek, “Look at that face, the bone structure! And _you_ try saying no to those big blue eyes, he’s cuter than Marius!” The dog in question seems to huff before plopping down on the ground beside Combeferre, ears back. “The world _needs_ attractive people, Enjolras!”

“He’s right, you know.” Combeferre reasons, “How can you protect the kingdom if you stand and let one of your own people die?”

“Yeah, Enjolras! Mermen are people, too!” Courfeyrac insists with that damn _smile_ of his, and Enjolras knows he has lost.

With a world weary sigh and a promise to find new friends later, he says “Fine. Where do you live?”

For a second Grantaire looks disbelievingly at Enjolras which for some reason hurts the young prince more that it probably should. Would Grantaire really expect Enjolras to let him die? Has he really been that horrible? For some reason Enjolras’ heart feels leaden for the second time that night.

“In a cave by the river, just outside of the village.” He answers eventually.

“Okay.” Courfeyrac declares cheerily, “Can you walk?”

Everyone - even Marius - stares at him before a look of understanding dawns on his face. “Ohhh right. The whole tail thing.”

“Yes,” Grantaire deadpans, “The whole tail thing--” he breaks off to make a noise that sounds somewhere between a gasp and a cough. “We need to move. Now.” He manages to grit out, and sure enough, his tail that was previously a collection of smooth, shimmering blue scales now seems drier, the fins more brittle and scales even missing in several places. For some reason this sight alone sets Enjolras into action, every muscle in his body screaming _go go go,_ and without being fully aware of his actions he picks Grantaire into his arms and makes for the river, barely turning around to make sure his friends are still behind him, because even the thought of Grantaire dying now makes Enjolras feel as though he’s been punched in the stomach.

He decides to question this sudden affection for the drunkard later. For now he’s going to get to that cave if it kills him.

 

 

 

 

They find the cave easily enough and after only ten minutes of walking/running/storming they step into the mouth of the cave, a good thing too as Grantaire is almost unconscious.

“There’s a pool just there.” Combeferre observes on entering, and Enjolras makes straight for it and, bending down, slowly submerges Grantaire into the water, until not even the top of his curly black mop of hair is visible in the dim light of the cave.

For a terrifying moment nothing happens, and Enjolras feels ice leeching into his veins, because they were too late, they couldn’t save him, they--

Are promptly splashed in the face as a now all-too-familiar figure leaps out of the water with a loud whoop, already healing blue scales rippling in the in the moonlight.

“Grantaire!” Courfeyrac calls excitedly.

“The one and only.” The merman replies with a smirk as he glides through the water to rest by the edge of the large rock pool, which appears to be connected to the ocean by a river.

“ _Grantaire!_ ” A shrill voice squeals, and everyone pauses because it most certainly wasn’t a man’s voice.

Grantaire, however, must be familiar with is as he has enough time to pinch his nose and mutter, “ _Oh balls.”_ Before a streak of purple is seen in the murky water and suddenly a female figure appears, glaring at them him from under dark hair with - huh, purple eyes. Maybe all mermaids have the eye/tail co-ordination thing. Or mermen. Merpeople?

“You asshole!” The mermaid shouts, stabbing Grantaire in the chest with a long finger. “Do you have any idea how worried I was, you stupid fucking fuck? What fuckery are you trying to pull, because I had to hear from Feuilly that you stormed off and almost got yourself killed you little shit!” When the mermaid pauses for breath, Enjolras decides to reason with her, and find out more about Feuilly’s involvement with these people, seeing as they’ve been friends for years and he had no idea about his involvement with, well, _mermaids._ If Feuilly has a tail Bahorel well have an aneurism.

“Now, excuse me--” he starts, before that burning purple stare is turned on him which Enjolras has no qualms about admitting is truly terrifying.

“No, I will not fucking excuse you, excuse the fuck out of me for not giving the _mighty Prince Enjolras_ respect, considering you almost killed my friend, you asshat!”

“’Asshat’?” Enjolras mutters to himself before another squeal of “ _Grantaire!”_ is heard and what at first Enjolras thinks is another mermaid appears. However, on closer inspection, the shining silver eyes and long white-blonde hair belong to a man (well, merman. Technicalities.)

Rather than stabbing Grantaire like the first newcomer, this one swims towards him with a gleeful shout before enveloping him in a bone-crushing hug. “I’m so glad you’re okay! Feuilly had us worried sick!”

“I’m fine, Jehan--”

“No thanks to that fucker.” The mermaid cuts Grantaire off, pointing an accusing finger towards Enjolras.

“ _Actually_ , he and his friends saved my life, Éponine, so just back off, okay?” Grantaire demands, though he sounds tired, almost defeated, the only bit of evidence that he was close to death only minutes ago. This has the mermaid at a loss for words for once and she finally sighs and swims away resignedly.

“Don’t mind her.” The merman with the glimmering silver tail - Jehan - says.

Courfeyrac, who hadn’t taken his eyes off of Jehan since he first swam into the cave kneels on the edge of the rock pool and says, “Why would I mind her when I have a beautiful specimen like you before my eyes.” And when he waggles his eyebrows Jehan actually _giggles._

“How long have you all lived like this?” Combeferre cuts in while Courfeyrac and Jehan are busy staring at each other.

Grantaire sighs again before saying with a sad smile, “A while. It’s kind of a long story.”

“We have all night.” Enjolras insists, because he can’t just _leave_ , not after everything he’s just witnessed, not after…well, Grantaire.

Combeferre gives him a quizzical look, as he knows that they don’t actually have all night because they have to return to the castle, but he says nothing.

“It probably won’t interest you anyway.” Grantaire insists, that same disbelieving look in his blue, blue eyes that still manages to make Enjolras feel as though he’s been stabbed in the heart.

So, to prove his point, Enjolras sits firmly on the ground, dragging Combeferre - and subsequently Marius - along with him. “We have all night.” He repeats, “tell me.”

Grantaire’s eyes lock with Enjolras’ for a brief moment before he looks at Jehan, who nods encouragingly, and finally, sighing once more, says, “Okay then.”


	6. How I Met Your Curse-Layer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A story is told, feelings are felt and Éponine just wants sleep

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow this is LONG LONG LONG LONG LONG (aye you get the point) OVERDUE and I'M SORRY!
> 
> Dedicated to the lovely Hoop who has threatened my life multiple times about updating this <3  
> Also to my dear Wing Ding who started reading this and Ryan who has read my fics all along and didn't tell me O.o
> 
> But anywho, sorry sorry, and please enjoy!

“Are you sitting comfortably?” Grantaire sweeps his gaze around the cave, to the edge of the pool where Enjolras and Combeferre sit cross-legged with Marius, waiting patiently for the story to be told. At Courfeyrac who hasn’t taken his eyes off of Jehan since he first entered the cave, and finally at the recently returned Éponine who looks like she’d rather everyone fucked off for a while and left her alone.  “Good. Then I’ll begin.”

“The abridged version please,” Éponine mutters with a roll of those piercing purple eyes. “Some of us actually need to sleep and it’s bad enough I’ve had to deal with Feuilly’s shit all night--”

“ _Anyway_ ,” Grantaire cuts in with a pointed look at Éponine before turning to face the room at large oh-so-subtly. Enjolras makes it a point to remember to ask Feuilly later about just what the hell he gets up to that requires his association with, well, Merpeople.

“As I said earlier, we weren’t born like this.” Grantaire starts.

“So what happened?” Courfeyrac demands when he takes his eyes from Jehan’s face for a whole two seconds.

“Who the fuck’s telling the story here?” Éponine snaps. “If you keep asking questions you’ll be here till morning which, no, just no.” She looks all of them - even Marius - in the eye, as if daring them to comment. When she seems satisfied she nods to Grantaire to continue.

“Um. Okay. So basically we were cursed by this wizard a few years back. It wasn’t his real intention to leave us stranded in a cave or anything. What he really wanted was to recruit people to his magical army to fight against Hollisteria from the inside. But we said no, obviously.”

“Obviously. Have you seen the army’s pension plan nowadays? Absolutely scandalous!” Courfeyrac takes a moment to notice everyone’s incredulous stares directed towards him - even from Jehan who’d been practically swooning at him seconds before - and his eyes widen slightly before he adds, “And, you know, the whole evil wizard killing people thing.”

Combeferre nods at him approvingly with a proud smirk before quickly picking up Marius from where he’d been about to trot into the pool of water.   Grantaire makes sure that he has everyone’s focus before beginning again.

“So he cursed us along with a lot of others and told us we’d see him again ‘when the time comes’. But obviously the end isn’t nigh seeing as we’re all still stuck living in this damned forest.” Marius begins to whine pathetically from his place of Combeferre’s lap.

“Others? What others?” Enjolras grits out, barely keeping his anger in check. Because how could he have been so oblivious? For years he and his friends had been trying so hard to liberate the people of Hollisteria from oppression, yet here’s a whole forest of people who’ve been cursed, made outcasts, unable to live a normal life, all because they wouldn’t take up arms against their own people, for being better people than most humans he knows.

Grantaire smiles a little sadly before answering. “People. Good people,” he sighs, “you probably will have heard about that large hunting party that ‘got lost in the woods’ a few years back.”

They all nod. The whole village had mourned over the loss of the young men who had gone into the woods one winter to try and kill some game to feed their families through the cold months. Every search party sent to look for them in the spring either returned empty-handed or disappeared themselves.

Eventually they just stopped looking.

“Well they’re here, all of them. Somewhere in these woods. Except they’re changed. You probably even noticed a few of them on your way through the forest tonight.” Enjolras nods and supresses a shudder, thinking about that Montparnasse fellow and the bickering three-headed knight.

“Wait,” Combeferre begins softly, “You said the old hunting party are all here. Does that mean you three...?”

“No not all of us. Just me.” Jehan chirps in his sing-song voice, though now there is a kind of sad lilt to it and Courfeyrac looks about ready to weep. Enjolras, despite himself, can feel nothing but mild surprise. Looking at Jehan, the charming merman with shining silver eyes, dimples deeper that the murky waters of the pool and flowers woven into his hair despite being submerged in water half the time, it’s hard to imagine him heading into a forest ready to murder some animals, even for the good of people.

As if reading his thoughts, Jehan chuckles quietly, “I never really was the hunting type. Honestly I only came into the woods for inspiration, maybe jot down a few poems about the beauty of the contrast between the blood and snow.”

“You write poetry?” Courfeyrac asks dreamily

“Well, I did.” Jehan grins at him. “It’s a bit hard now. The paper gets very wet you see.”

“ _I think he’s getting_ me _hard and wet, ‘Ferre.”_

_“Courf how is that even--?”_

_“Oh, hush.”_

“So, what’s your story?” Enjolras asks Grantaire and Éponine, to distract himself from the growingly awkward conversation to his left more than anything.

For some reason, that innocent enquiry is all it takes for Éponine’s mood to grow even blacker. She gives him what must be her greatest death glare before spitting, “Let’s just say there are some people who make starving and freezing to death in the woods seem like a fucking paradise.” 

“What Éponine means is that she had to get away from some people who aren’t so very nice,” Grantaire cuts off whatever Éponine was about to say to that remark by swimming closer to her and wrapping an arm tightly around her shoulders. “She needed to go and I wouldn’t let her go alone, so we came here. _Here_ just happened to be the wrong place at the wrong time.” Grantaire looks slightly guilty at the admission and Éponine throws him a sharp look, but not an angry one like what she’s been dealing out all night. More like a warning glance, like this is the beginnings of a conversation they’ve had many times before.

Enjolras feels something inside him grow dark, partly because of guilt. He never thought for a moment that Grantaire the Drunkard would ever even be capable of doing something so selfless and noble and _brave_. Perhaps, with all he’s seen, he has good reason to drink now, after all.

But for some unfathomable reason the prince finds himself saddened by the realisation that Grantaire and Éponine must be a couple, to be so close and casually sling curses at each other and risk their lives for each other without hesitation. Enjolras doesn’t know why that upsets him. Surely it shouldn’t, Enjolras never even liked Grantaire before tonight and shouldn’t he be happy for anyone who’s found happiness with the person they love?

No, Enjolras shouldn’t feel heart-broken.

And yet, he is.

“Do you know the name of the wizard that did this to you?” Combeferre’s soothing tone snaps Enjolras back to reality and to the situation at hand.

The three Merpeople exchange quick glances before Jehan explains, “He never gave us a name, and he had a cowl covering most of his face. No one knows who he is or how to find him.”

“Now we’re all just waiting around until ‘the time comes’ whatever the hell that means.”  Grantaire finishes with a resigned sigh, and the three friends have an air of defeat about them that to Enjolras is all-too maddening.

“You can’t just sit here--”

“Well, technically they’re floating, Enjy.”

“--And do nothing!” Enjolras yells. “Surely there must be a way. If they knew about your plight I’m sure the people would--”

“The people? Hah!” Grantaire scoffs, fixing a look on Enjolras like a parent might give while scolding a child. “The people _fear us,_ Enjolras. Or have you forgotten about the law that banned all magical users and creatures from the kingdom? Your family’s laws, in fact, _your highness.”_

“But wait. Your kind are banished,” Courfeyrac begins ponderingly, “and yet you’re all still here. How is that possible?”

“For some reason the National Guard have never searched the forest since we were all cursed.” Jehan answers with a shrug, “All we know is that we can’t leave.”

“But Grantaire can leave, surely?” Combeferre raises a quizzical eyebrow, “We see him in the Musain every week.”

“Well of course we can physically leave.” Grantaire explains, gesturing towards Éponine and Jehan, “but it’s different for us. When we’re dry we can become relatively human again and no one would suspect anything. Others…weren’t so lucky.” He trails off sadly and Enjolras feels pained, remembering the three-headed knight. Were they cursed by this wizard as well? Surely it must be torture, to never be able to show your face in your own village lest you be killed, simply for being in the wrong place at the wrong time.

“But you can leave here.” Enjolras says when he feels his anger rising again, “You can spread the word, make the people call to arms!”

“And who’d believe me? Hm? I’m just a drunkard, Enjolras.”

 _But you’re not,_ Enjolras doesn’t say, as that would bring up feelings that he doesn’t think he can address just yet (or ever).

“But they’d believe me.” He does say, a plan already forming, cogs already turning in the optimistic prince’s head.

But of course Grantaire, ever the cynic, stops his spiel before it’s even begun. “Perhaps they would. Or perhaps they’d think you’re mad and lock you up, and you’d lose not only whatever plans you had for the magical creatures but for the rebellion of Hollisteria as well.”

And even Enjolras admits that he makes a fair point.

“Damn it, Grantaire!” Courfeyrac pouts. “This is why we can’t have nice things!”

“It’s the truth.” Grantaire shrugs with a small sad smile.

“Well there’s nothing we can do now, in any case.” Combeferre points out.

“Poppycock! It’s never too late to take action! You of all people should know--”

“No, Enjolras, it’s _literally_ too late to do anything, it’s nearing sunrise.” And sure enough, the first tendrils of the orange sun are peeking through the mouth of the cave.

“But we can’t just leave them here.” Enjolras tries to reason, feeling utterly useless.

“Oh yes you fucking can.” Éponine snaps. “We’ve been perfectly fine on our own thank you very much and if I don’t get my beauty sleep I’ll start to get in a bad mood.”

“ _Wait, she’s not in a bad mood, now_?”

Éponine growls.

Enjolras decides it’s time to leave.

But not before making plans; action must be taken as soon as possible. “We must meet again. Here, tomorrow night.”

“What about your birthday ball?” Combeferre asks in an undertone.

“I’ll find a way.” Enjolras answers equally as quiet.

“Why?” Grantaire’s voice echoes through the cavern, making everyone look at him in confusion. “Why do all of this? Why risk it?”

 _For you_ , _I’m starting to believe that I’d risk just about anything,_ Enjolras doesn’t say. Instead he dons his princely voice once more.

“You’re aware of the words of my noble house, formed by my great-grandfather Instagramus? ‘You Only Live Once’. Well, I believe those words whole-heartedly. What good is living if you can’t make a difference for the world in which you live? If I couldn’t help people, I think I’d rather not live at all.”

And with that, he turns to leave the cave, expecting Combeferre and Courfeyrac to follow with Marius. After saying their goodbyes, they’re almost outside when Enjolras hears someone say, barely above a whisper, “I believe in you.”

When he turns around to find the source of the voice, Enjolras finds the cave empty, the only movement a slight rippling on the water and the only sound his own harsh breathing.

Perhaps he imagined it.

Shaking his head, he leaves the cave and heads into the Haunted Forest once more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So there was a distinct lack of wise cracks and puns in this chapter but it is a necessary evil to actually build some plot unfortunately.  
> Also all my internet problems are about to be sorted and hopefully things will be updated more frequently yay
> 
> Hope you enjoyed, have a lovely day! :)

**Author's Note:**

> If you've read this much you're a saint, and there is more to come (un)fortunatley


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